


adult ceremony

by Lirazel



Category: Infinite (Band), K-POP RPF, K-pop, Korean Pop, Kpop-Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirazel/pseuds/Lirazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sungjong's solo stage is amazing.  And nobody appreciates it more than Hoya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	adult ceremony

“Maybe you shouldn’t watch.”

It’s really hard to sneak up on Hoya; he seems to have an awareness of his environment that Sungyeol can only guess has something to do with dancing. So it’s rare that anyone makes him jump, which makes it even funnier when he does now, especially with it being as loud as it is back here: stylist noonas making adjustments to makeup and clothes, directors shouting instructions, stage hands hurrying to move things, not to mention the fans screaming nonstop just beyond. The noise of it, the speed, is shooting through Sungyeol’s veins, but he’s less jittery now that his own solo stage is over and done with. He’s really glad the numbers were scheduled in the order they were so that he can enjoy this without getting distracted by that lurch of nausea that had smacked into him whenever he thought about his solo stage. But it went well enough (enough) and now he can smirk at Hoya and this day is turning out really, really well.

Sungyeol _knows_ he’d seen Hoya jump, but he recovers quickly and just turns his head from the stage long enough to quirk a brow at Sungyeol, casual, like he wasn’t just surprised at all. He’s still sweaty and shirtless from his own stage (one that made Sungyeol feel inadequate, but Sungyeol won’t think about that now) and Sungyeol ignores the chocolate abs that the noonas keep peeking at ( _I look better in a suit anyway._ ). “Why’s that?”

Sungyeol shrugs, settling himself on a stool so he has a good view of the stage, too. The combination of sweat and the fabric of his clothes is making his skin itch even more than usual, but there’s no way he’s missing this. “It’ll be hard for you to dance afterwards with a hard-on, won’t it?”

Hoya glares at him. “I never knew you were so interested in my dick, Sungyeol.”

“Only when it’s getting in the way of performances.”

Hoya smirks. “I can’t help it if I’m big, you know. Just born that way.”

Sungyeol rolls his eyes. “Because that’s got everything to do with it. Dongwoo-hyung manages to dance anyway.”

Hoya concedes the point with a tilt of his head, taking a sip from his water bottle as a stylist noona swings by to dab at the glistening at his hairline before scurrying off again.

“Are you seriously going to stand here and watch me?”

Sungyeol grins wide, feeling the makeup caked onto his skin move with his muscles. “This will be way more entertaining than anything else that happens today. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Hoya shifts as though he’s going to move somewhere else, but Sungyeol kicks at his leg with a booted toe. “I’ll just follow you. Might as well stay here and get comfortable.”

Hoya glares again. “Such a voyeur.”

“Well, you know about my porn problem. Are you really surprised?”

Sungyeol gets distracted from whatever Hoya is going to say by Woohyun, who’s several yards away and waving at him furiously while a stylist noona tries to hold him still to fix his makeup. Through a series of facial expressions and stupid gestures, Woohyun manages to convey that he’s really pissed that he can’t be over with Sungyeol watching Hoya because he’s next up on stage and has to be ready. Sungyeol smirks at him and sticks out his tongue and Woohyun flips him off. Sungyeol gets a front-row seat. Maybe if Woohyun isn’t a dick later, he’ll fill him in on all the details. Things are always funnier when Woohyun’s laughing, too.

Myungsoo wanders up the next moment. He’s sweating so much the noonas aren’t even trying to pat him down anymore—what would be the point? No one’s as sensitive to heat as Myungsoo. He leans against the wall next to Sungyeol’s stool and looks from him to Hoya and back again. “What are we doing?”

“We’re watching Hoya watch Sungjong dance,” Sungyeol explains.

“Oh.” Sungyeol waits for it. He doesn’t have to wait long. “Why?”

Sometimes he really doesn’t know why he’s best friends with Myungsoo. “Because it’s going to be hilarious to see him get sexually frustrated.”

“ _Oh_.” Myungsoo starts laughing then, and Sungyeol rolls his eyes. Such an innocent kid.

The lights go down on the stage and Sungyeol doesn’t think it’s the shadows that make him think that Hoya straightens and stiffens a bit. The crowd screams and the lights go purple and then Sungjong rises out of the floor in that dress.

Sungyeol has seen Sungjong in dresses enough times that it’s almost not even worth laughing about anymore. But this one, sleek and slitted and skimming over every line of Sungjong’s body, is different than all the ones before. Judging by the size of his eyes, Hoya thinks so too. 

Sungjong’s moves are different, too, not the exaggerated camp of “Bubble Pop” or “Good Girl Bad Girl,” just confident and fierce. The slink to them matches the dress, and they’re a lot harder to laugh at and—well, it’s better to watch Hoya anyway. Sungyeol doesn’t really want to think about Sungjong like this, any more than he knows Sunggyu wanted to think about Sungyeol himself in his “Trouble Maker” getup. Better to laugh or, if you can’t, just ignore it.

Better to look at Hoya, who can’t seem to look away. His hands are fisted up so tight that the veins in his arms are standing out more than usual, and though his face looks set in concrete, his eyes look almost pained. Sungyeol has to bite his fist to keep from laughing, holding his mirth in with his stomach muscles—if anything will give him abs, it’s this. He loses it completely when he looks over and sees that Woohyun is doubled-over laughing and flapping his hands as he watches Hoya; Sunggyu smacks his shoulder and shouts something at him—probably to stop laughing his stupid ass off and get ready for his stage. But Sungyeol doesn’t have anyone to stop him from laughing, so he just lets loose, especially once he realizes that Hoya doesn’t even seem to remember he’s there, much less hear his laughter. Myungsoo grins, too, but he’s watching Sungjong more than he’s watching Hoya, which: he would. 

But Sungyeol hasn’t even glanced at Sungjong since those first opening beats—he’ll see this performance later when they get to watch the filmed footage. It’ll be more fun with everyone together anyway. And right now? He can laugh his head off at Hoya.

Sungyeol kind of wants to take a look at Hoya’s pants to see if they’re tighter in one particular area than they were a few minutes ago, but that would just be weird (especially with what Hoya said about his interest in his dick earlier), so instead he looks at the way Hoya’s got his hand braced against the wall now and how he’s clenching and unclenching his other hand. Sungyeol is laughing so hard at this point that his stool is threatening to flip him right off; he has to grab onto Myungsoo’s shoulder to keep himself seated. The best thing of all about this is that Hoya just _humped the floor_ in his own performance, pantomiming sex right and left, ripping his clothes right off of his body, but now his cheeks are flushed so dark that Sungyeol wonders if there’s even any blood left in the rest of his body _to_ make his pants tighter—and all over Sungjong slinking around in a dress. Aren’t guys in dresses supposed to be _funny_? And yeah, Sungyeol is getting a really good laugh out of this, but it’s not because of Sungjong at all. 

Sungjong ends the number with a sassy move—Sungyeol still isn’t watching, but he’s seen Sungjong practice a couple of times so he knows—and then the lights are doused and Woohyun is being hurried into position. The crowd is screaming on the other side of the wall, but it’s quiet in the little corner where the three of them are until Myungsoo sighs, a content sound. “Sungjong’s so pretty. He did really good, didn’t he, hyung?”

Hoya is still staring, dazed, at the stage even though there’s nothing there to see at the moment. Sungyeol takes a deep breath to control his giggling fit and kicks at Hoya’s leg. “Ya! Your dongsaeng asked you a question! Aren’t you going to answer him?”

Hoya looks over them, blinking like he’s trying to see again after staring at the sun (shit, he is _so gone_ it’s almost pathetic. No wait—it _is_ pathetic). “What?”

Sungyeol’s finally recovered from his laughter and is back to rolling his eyes. 

“I thought he was really good, hyung, didn’t you?” Myungsoo repeats.

“Yeah.” Hoya clears his throat, and Sungyeol sneers at how obvious he is. “He was really good.”

“Did your pants think he was really good too, Howon?” Sungyeol asks sweetly and Hoya opens his mouth, no doubt to let Sungyeol _have_ it (but it’s worth it, to get to tease him for how obvious he is about Sungjong) when Jongryoul-hyung appears out of nowhere.

“Ya! You three! Get changed now!”

They’re nothing if not professional (after all they’ve sacrificed, everything they’ve been through, they have to be) so they scatter immediately with just a scowl from Hoya and a wink from Sungyeol. Then it’s all the shifting of fabric and makeup noonas fretting over smeared makeup and being hustled into position, and when Woohyun jogs offstage, Sungyeol manages to position himself close enough to hear him while the stylists drag him out of his clothes and into his next outfit.

Woohyun has a huge grin on his face and it’s got very little to do with his own stage. “Holy shit! That was even better than I thought it would be! I thought his body was breaking!” he crows while shucking off his pants, as though they’re picking up on a conversation that paused just seconds before. But after all these years, all of them are good enough at following each other’s’ thought processes that they can pick up the threads of old conversations from days before without anyone getting confused—most of the time.

“I’m surprised he didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot!” It’s so easy to fall back into mock mode when Woohyun’s grinning like that, even if the grin disappears for a moment when he pulls his shirt over his head. They’re going to be onstage and performing in mere minutes, so maybe they should be focused on that, but this is their lives: scrabbling to find moments to be regular guys in between the press of fame and responsibilities. It’s all they have, really. None of them waste it, especially not Sungyeol.

“Or storm out and drag him offstage to ravish him!” Woohyun agrees, and the movement of pulling his new shirt over his head almost obscures the words, but Sungyeol catches them anyways. “But who can blame him? Sungjong is the sexy one—he was sexier than you, Yeol!”

Well, that’s taking things a bit too far. Jackass. Sungyeol won’t be telling him a single thing now. (Hoya had teased him, weeks ago when he first picked out the number for his solo stage—“Aren’t you being a little obvious, Sungyeol? Trying to recover your manliness after the dress thing?” Sungyeol had refused to talk to him for a solid week afterwards, and no, Sunggyu, he does not think he was overreacting at _all_ , thank you very much. Maybe it had just been a stupid joke, but Hoya doesn’t get it. It’s so _easy_ for him to be manly and have everyone think he’s sexy. He doesn’t even have to _try_. And now Sungjong, too? Sungyeol shoves the thoughts away—he doesn’t have time for them now, especially not since he promised himself—where all the others could hear him—that he wouldn’t cry this concert.) But Sungyeol doesn’t get a chance to shoot anything back at Woohyun because that’s their cue and it’s time to fall into performance mode. (This is their lives: they almost never get to finish a conversation because there’s no _time_. They’ll pick it up later, if they’re not too exhausted.)

But he does have time, right before the lights go up, to hiss at Hoya, “You recovered enough, man? You okay to dance?”

“About as okay as Myungsoo was after he saw you in your ‘Trouble Maker’ dress.”

Well. Sungyeol will _definitely_ be telling Woohyun every single detail of Hoya’s reaction, then. 

 

\--

 

The feeling after a performance is similar to feeling tipsy: warm and tingling and full of pleasure at being alive. There’ve been thousands of performances, and all of them leave Sungjong feeling that way—even if only for a few moments before the exhaustion slams into him and he feels like he’s woken up with a terrible hangover (not that he’s had a hangover before; no matter how much he drinks—which he doesn’t do to excess very often; he’s too responsible for that—he wakes up with nothing more than a twinge of a slight headache and a bit of a dry mouth. It makes Sunggyu-hyung _so mad_ ). 

But if a regular performance feels like tipsiness, the aftermath of a concert feels like he’s drunk every bottle of champagne in the world, buoyed up by bubbles of giddy joy. The screaming of the fans, knowing that he—they, Infinite—made the fans happy, there’s nothing like that in the world. Sungjong had known for sure after their debut stage that, yes, this is what he wants to do, but he never feels it as intensely as he does after a concert. There were a few hiccups, of course, places where they’d stumbled over their commentary or where their notes waved a bit or their moves could have been sharper. Of course there were—they’re not perfect (no matter how hard they try to be). But it had been _good_ , and the energy the crowd had been giving off (almost tangible, like lightning you can touch without it killing you) had confirmed it, and for the first hour or two afterwards, Sungjong feels (though he may know in the back of his mind that it isn’t true) as though nothing could bring him back down.

But time passes—an impromptu after party in the bowels of the arena with food and some soju and Sunggyu disappearing somewhere with Dongwoo and Woohyun for a while and then coming back with suspiciously red eyes (‘men don’t cry’ Sungjong’s ass). The managers and the stylists and everyone else are almost as keyed up as the members are and they just laugh at Sungyeol giving Dongwoo-hyung a ride around the room on his shoulders and Myungsoo giving _everyone_ sweaty hugs. Sungjong starts off just as giddy as everyone else, but by the time they’re shepherded out to the vans and then up into the dorm, he’s deflated like a balloon. 

He kicks off his shoes at the door with more of an attitude than he usually lets himself display (he’s past that now, grown up, not a bratty little maknae to be coddled and bossed around by the others) and fights Sungyeol for the bathroom to take the first shower—he’d have won, too, except that stupid Woohyun is for some reason on Sungyeol’s side and tackles Sungjong, distracting him long enough that Sungyeol slips into the bathroom and slams the door behind him with a triumphant shriek. But Sunggyu had laid down the law in the van—short showers, no luxuriating, not when everyone else wants one too, and his voice had been so stern that even Sungyeol won’t disobey him tonight—so Sungjong doesn’t have to loiter outside the bathroom for long. He ends up letting Myungsoo join him in the shower—they all take showers together sometimes when there’s no time for individual ones, and Sungjong is long past the point of modesty—and it’s a rush to get clean despite how amazing the water feels (and if the pounding of the water on his back—Sungyeol and Woohyun had rigged it so that the pressure is higher than it legally should be—doesn’t relieve the tension in his shoulders, well, it’s not the first time). It’s always a rush: there’s always someone else waiting.

He leaves Myungsoo battling with his hated hair in front of the bathroom mirror and pads back into his bedroom, kicking the door shut and heading straight for his pajamas, pulling out the soft pants and the ratty t-shirt. “Your turn, hyung,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the sound of the hiphop beating in Hoya’s earbuds. Only Hoya could want to listen to loud music right after a 115-decibel concert. 

Sungjong turns his back, jerking his pajamas on and rubbing his towel over his wet hair as he hears the music go off behind him. After a second, when he doesn’t hear the sound of Hoya opening the door, he turns to face him.

He’d been angry (annoyed? hurt? all of the above and yet something else entirely?) for the last little while, but seeing Hoya stand there, still sweaty and sticky, with half of his makeup still smeared on his face but his glasses already on (Sungjong loves when he wears his glasses), Sungjong just feels tired.

“Are you okay, Sungjong-ah?” Hoya’s wrapping his earbuds around his iPod, slowly and methodically and Sungjong watches the movement of his hand, almost hypnotized by it.

“Yeah, hyung. Yeah, I’m fine.” Fine enough.

Sungjong hates the way Howon makes him feel sometimes. Most of the time he feels most comfortable with Hoya, most himself and least judged, at his funniest and smartest and most mature. But there are other times when he feels like he’s a nervous school kid hoping for attention from a cool sunbae and not quite sure he’ll get it, which is pretty ridiculous since Howon always has time for him, no matter how busy they are, ready to drop everything (even sleep he desperately needs, and yes, Sungjong’s felt plenty guilty about that) to listen if Sungjong wants to talk. But no matter how he tells himself it’s stupid, he can’t help feeling that way. He isn’t used to that, to his feelings not obeying his thoughts, can’t think of a time when they _haven’t_. And yet there’s Howon-hyung, and nothing Sungjong’s practical brain tells his feelings seems to sink in. 

He’s so, so tired.

“I think you’re lying to me, Lee Sungjong.” Hoya’s voice is light, a special brand of teasing he reserves just for Sungjong (that tone is usually enough to make Sungjong’s heart clench all on its own), but he’s not looking at him, turning to set his iPod down on the desk and align it perfectly.

Sungjong watches the shifting line of Hoya's shoulders and mops a hand over his gritty eyes. How is he supposed to say this? How is he supposed to say that he’s hurt that Hoya hasn’t said a single thing about his solo stage, not a single thing, and that it’s all Sungjong’s been waiting to hear since he performed? How is he supposed to put into words how badly he needs to hear that his hyung thought he was good? How is he supposed to tell him that he doesn’t care what anyone else in the world thinks so long as Hoya liked the performance? That his every thought while preparing and practicing wasn’t ‘How will this help Infinite?’ as it should have been but, ‘Will Hoya-hyung think it’s good?’ Sungjong isn’t that person, doesn’t need other people’s approval, no matter how much he admires them; his confidence has always come from his hard work and his assurance in his own talent and dedication. He’s a professional: he works hard because it’s his job, because it makes the fans happy, because it helps Infinite. He shouldn’t be so worried about impressing one of the members. He _shouldn’t_. 

And yet he is. 

And it makes him feel tired and young and sort of sick and he hates that so, so much. All he’s ever wanted is Hoya’s respect, but if he says any of that, won’t he lose it? Won’t Hoya think he’s just a dumb little kid who thinks too much about what others think of him? Hoya’d told him, more than once, how much he admires that Sungjong doesn’t get fazed by what others think of him; how would he react if he knew that Sungjong was all knotted up inside with how much he _needs_ to hear Hoya’s opinion ( _needs_ to hear his approval)? 

The others say Sungjong is fearless, and maybe usually they’re right—slasher movies, haunted houses, audiences’ and sunbaes’ eyes: none of them even make Sungjong nervous. He wants to skydive one day, bungee jump maybe, guest star on _Running Man_ , meet Beyonce, and he knows he won’t even pause if he gets the chance, will jump right in without a shred of fear. Courage has always been one of his strengths, one of the qualities he’s most proud of, but right now, with Hoya standing on the other side of the room and not looking at him, Sungjong knows that he’s a coward.

“I’m tired, hyung.” He doesn’t say that he’s ‘just’ tired, because he doesn’t lie to Hoya, not ever (even the ‘fine’ hadn’t been a lie, just an exercise in relativism). They’d promised each other, back in the old dorm when they were the only trainees living with CEO-nim, far away from home and with no guarantees that all of their sacrifices would result in anything at all, that they would never, ever lie to each other, and Sungjong is as sure that Hoya’s never broken that promise as he is that he himself hasn’t. 

Hoya turns back around, but his gaze doesn’t quite reach Sungjong’s face, skimming over his shoulder before resting somewhere behind him. “Your stage, Sungjongie…” he says, and then trails off, and Sungjong feels his heart beating up in his throat, threatening to choke him, and he isn’t sure if it’s from suspense over what Hoya will say next or something darker because Hoya still isn’t looking at him.

Hoya’s _never_ had a problem looking at him, even at times when he maybe shouldn’t be (like when Sungjong is changing, and Sungjong doesn’t let himself think about that too often because…because it’s too _much_ ). And yet right now he isn’t, like he can’t bring himself to look Sungjong in the face, and that makes Sungjong feel—feel wrong, feel too big for his suddenly itchy skin, feel—he doesn’t even know what, but he _hates_ it. He hates it.

But he still needs to hear what Hoya has to say. Even if he tells him that his voice was weak or his dancing was off. Even if he tells him, as he does in Sungjong’s worst nightmares, that seeing him like that was disgusting. Sungjong knows that Hoya will never say that— _knows_ it—and yet he can’t get the thought of it out of his head. 

Hearing that from Hoya would just about kill him, but it wouldn’t stop him from doing stages like that again. Sungjong had felt powerful in that dress, had felt sexy as he moved his body to the music, and he knows other people won’t understand that, won’t understand why he feels that way about wearing women’s clothing. Sungjong doesn’t want to be a woman, he _isn’t_ a woman. He’s a man and he wants to be a man and he’s never wanted anything else. At first when he did girl group dances and they stuck him in a dress it was about pretending to be a girl just for the fun of it, but it hasn’t been about that for a long time now. He isn’t pretending anything when he dresses like that—he’s himself, he’s _Sungjong_ , just Sungjong in a dress. And this dress had been the best one of all, no wig, almost no makeup, the lines of his own body clear in the tight fabric, the hose encasing his slender legs. He’d felt more like himself than he ever has while doing a dance meant for a woman’s body, felt sexy and strong and real, and he had loved it. It isn’t something he needs to do all the time, maybe not even often, but he will do it again, no matter what anyone says, because it had been _right_.

Maybe the netizens are saying hateful things about it on the internet right now, maybe the hyungs will tease him about it forever, maybe people judge him for it. He doesn’t care about that. 

But he cares about what Howon thinks. No, he won’t let anything anyone says, not even Hoya, stop him, but it would hurt. It would hurt.

And yet he has to hear it. And so he says, voice a little strained from performing, maybe a little weaker than usual because of the nightmares he’s been having, “Yes, hyung?”

“It was good!” Hoya’s voice is light, but not the same teasing kind of light, and maybe it’s really not light at all, only just pretending to be. “It was sexy—sexier than mine!”

If Sungjong had thought he’d felt tired before, it’s nothing compared to what he feels right now. The words are right, but— 

He makes himself smile; it takes more effort than it ever has before. “Yeah, hyung? I’m glad you liked it.” He tries to sound grateful, pleased, because they’re the words he wanted to hear, but the tone was forced and almost—fake? Has Howon _ever_ been fake with him?—and

—and Howon still isn’t looking at him.

He turns towards the bed, so, so ready to slide between the sheets and lose himself in oblivion. (Maybe there won’t be nightmares. After all, Hoya’s seen the dance now and—)

But then there’s Hoya’s hand on his arm—his large, warm hand that almost wraps all the way around Sungjong’s small bicep—and when Sungjong looks over his shoulder, his hyung is looking at him full in the face for the first time, his eyes magnified a bit behind his glasses, making him look younger and older at the same time, making him look not like Infinite’s Hoya but like Lee Howon, Sungjong’s friend and hyung and roommate. “It was—“ Hoya’s voice almost breaks and Sungjong hasn’t heard it do that in years, and all the fakeness and force are gone, and Sungjong’s heart is back in his throat again and his hands are tingling and— “It was _really_ sexy, Sungjong-ah,” he whispers.

Oh.

And just like that all of Sungjong’s courage is back. He turns to face Hoya fully, and he’d almost think that a smile has broken out across his face only this is too big for a smile. This is—well, this is what Sungjong’s been waiting a long, long time for. And Sungjong has never been one to hesitate in the face of what he wants.

“Yours was sexy, too, hyung,” he says, and he feels Hoya’s hand clench harder around his arm. He doesn’t mind.

“Yeah?” Now that Hoya’s looking at him fully, he doesn’t seem capable of looking away, his eyes glued to Sungjong’s face.

Sungjong flips a lock of wet hair out of his face. “Yeah. I was surprised the noonas didn’t start throwing their underwear at you.”

Hoya starts to smile, one of his little smiles that Sungjong loves. “What would I do with their underwear, Sungjong-ah?”

“Give it to Sunggyu-hyung, of course.”

Hoya gapes at him for just a moment and then he throws his head back and laughs, one of his big laughs that show off his pointy canines that he’s so proud of, and his glasses get jarred around on his nose and he has to fix them and he’s dropped his hand from Sungjong’s arm so Sungjong can face him more fully and Sungjong’s courage is back.

It helps that Howon’s head is tilted back a bit but Sungjong still has to crane his neck just a little to reach his mouth. Sungjong’s nose bumps up against the frames of his glasses and his laughter breaks off with a small sound Sungjong’s never heard before (but wants to hear again and again and again) and then Hoya’s kissing him back, and his lips are firm and a little bit chapped but they feel even better against Sungjong’s than he had imagined (again and again and again) and he can still feel the edge of Hoya’s glasses digging into his cheek and Hoya smells like bb cream and way too much sweat, but that doesn’t matter at all when Hoya’s got his arm tight around Sungjong’s waist and he’s opening his mouth to let Sungjong slide his tongue inside and _yes_ , this is exactly what Sungjong’s been waiting for for so, so long.

When breathing becomes necessary, Hoya slides his mouth against Sungjong’s cheekbone, his breath hot and fast against the skin. “Fuck, Sungjong, you were unbelievable.”

Sungjong isn’t sure whether the way his brain seems about to dribble out of his ears is more from the kissing or Hoya’s words. He puffs a laugh against Hoya’s skin. “You were great, too, hyung.” And he was. Sungjong hadn’t gotten to see most of his performance because he was up next and waiting for his cue, but he’d seen enough to know—not to mention that he’d seen him practicing too. Not to mention that _everything_ Hoya does is sexy. There is no doubt in Sungjong’s mind that Hoya had whipped the entire crowd up into a panting frenzy of lust.

“No, but Sungjongie, you don’t understand—you were—“ Hoya draws his mouth down to Sungjong’s neck, pausing to flick his tongue against his earlobe on the way, and Sungjong’s really glad Hoya’s so solid to lean on, all muscle so hard against him, his hand grasping Sungjong’s hip so tight, because he really needs the help staying upright. Fuck, his body feels amazing against Sungjong’s. “—no one in the world is as sexy as you.”

Sungjong isn’t sure he’ll ever learn how to breathe again, that his heart will ever fall to a rest rhythm. He wraps his arms around Hoya’s neck, ignoring the fact that Hoya’s still sweaty and that he’s clean. Who the fuck cares? “Hyung—“ 

“I’m serious, Sungjong, you think I’m not but I—“ It seems like Hoya doesn’t even have the energy to get the words out without a little refresher because he breaks off to kiss Sungjong again, deep and hot, and one of his hands runs up and down Sungjong’s arm, up and down the line of his side from his chest to his hipbone, less possessive than admiring, like he’s trying to convince himself with concrete evidence that Sungjong is really here. “You’re not like anyone else in the world, Sungjongie, you’re—“

Sungjong has to take a few deep breaths to recover but he manages a breathy laugh. “No one’s like anyone else in the world, hyung,” he teases.

“No, you know what I mean, I—“ Another kiss, and Sungjong takes the opportunity to shove his fingers up into Hoya’s sweaty hair, to bump his hips up against Hoya’s (and yes, there’s all the evidence Sungjong needs that Hoya does indeed think he’s really sexy, and maybe he ends up smirking just a little into the kiss). Hoya gasps against his lips as he tries to catch his breath. “Fuck, I just love every single thing about you—“

Sungjong feels his own fingers yank at Hoya’s hair to the point where it probably has to hurt, but the sound Hoya makes into their kiss is so hot Sungjong doesn’t even care. ( _So long_ he’s been waiting.)

Hoya’s breath is damp against his ear, his voice helpless in a way Sungjong hadn’t known it was possible for him to be, but, _oh_ , he likes it. “I’m not going to tell you you’re perfect, I know that would piss you off, I know you’re not perfect, no one is, but—fuck, Sungjong, you’re perfect to _me_.”

Sungjong used to make out with his girlfriend, has kissed a couple of the female idols when sexual frustration and the plastic sheen of idol life has gotten too much to bear (he knows Luna was pretending he was her Jinki-oppa and he hadn’t minded—it hadn’t hurt their friendship at all). But he’s never kissed anyone like _this_ , never wanted to, never _needed_ to and no one’s ever kissed him back like this either.

“I love everything about you, too, hyung,” he gasps against Hoya’s lips when they come up for air, and Hoya’s arm around his waist pulls him even closer, till Sungjong can feel the shifting of Hoya’s muscles against him. Hoya tilts his head up for another desperate kiss, and Sungjong knows that that moan is more about the words Sungjong’s just spoken than the kiss—though the kiss is mindblowing enough itself. 

Sungjong thinks he might just go on kissing Hoya till one of the managers comes to collect them for their next schedule, but a minute or two later someone pounds on the door. “Ya, Lee Howon! Are you taking a shower or not?”

Hoya sighs, bends his head to rest against Sungjong’s collarbone for a moment as he recovers himself, then shouts, “I’ll be there in a minute, don’t get your panties in a wad, hyung!” And then he laughs, and Sungjong knows he’s laughing again about his joke about Sunggyu and the panties and Sungjong laughs too as they take a reluctant step apart.

“I’ve gotta—“

“You smell like a locker room, hyung, go take a shower.”

Hoya grins at him, straightening his glasses on his nose. “I got you all sweaty again.”

Sungjong raises an eyebrow; he’s sufficiently recovered enough to play it cool again. “I think you’re overestimating your abilities, hyung.”

“Am I?” Hoya runs his eyes over Sungjong’s body, making Sungjong feel hot all over. “You look pretty sweaty to me.”

Sungjong sniffs. “I think you need to get a new prescription, hyung, your glasses don’t seem to be working.”

Hoya grins wider, leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Sungjong’s lips and turns away to gather his shower things. “Really, though, I’m sorry I got you all gross. You just got clean, too.”

Sungjong shrugs, sitting down on Hoya’s bed to watch him. “It won’t be the first time I’ve gone to bed dirty.”

Hoya looks over his shoulder and gives him an evil grin. “You could—“

“We really need to go to bed, hyung,” Sungjong interrupts. The idea is certainly tempting, but they have to be up in three hours. Not tonight. They’ll find time for that later.

Hoya shrugs and heads towards the door. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I guess you got my message, hyung?”

The sound of Sungjong’s voice makes Hoya pause with his hand on the doorknob. He turns slowly. “What message was that, Sungjongie-ah?”

Sungjong shrugs again, crossing his legs and leaning back on his arms, very aware that he’s stretched out on Hoya’s bed. “The message of the song.”

Hoya tilts his head to the side. “What was the message, then?”

“Honestly, hyung, didn’t you even listen to the lyrics?”

Hoya laughs. “I was a little bit distracted by what else was going on, you know. Tell me what they said.”

Sungjong grins an evil grin of his own and shakes his head. “Maybe I’ll give you an encore sometime.” He laughs when Hoya’s eyes go dark and he looks about to start over towards the bed. “Uh-uh. Not tonight, hyung. Go take a shower now.”

Hoya gives him one more longing look, then grumbles and leaves the room, and Sungjong flops back onto the bed and laughs to himself. Now that the adrenaline from the kissing has started fading away, he’s awfully tired again. Too tired to climb up to his own bed, maybe.

He smiles at the slats of the bed above him as he thinks about the words of the song, their meaning: we’ve both waited long enough, no more waiting. He hadn’t really thought that Hoya would hear them as a message to himself, and he hadn't, Sungjong knows that. But Sungjong had meant them, had wanted to sing them out loud even if he was the only one who really knew what they meant, and well, even if Hoya didn’t get the message from them, things have worked out exactly as Sungjong has always wanted anyway.

Yeah. He’ll give him an encore performance later. And then maybe they can _both_ perform the hotter parts of Hoya’s solo stage. Together. 

 

\--

 

It’s a week or two later before they have an evening off and Sungjong walks into their bedroom and finds a chipped vase with twenty roses in it sitting on the desk. They’re wilted and a bit brown around the edges, probably bought from a convenience store, but Sungjong laughs as he fingers a yellow petal. So Hoya had looked up the lyrics after all.

That night, Sungjong gives Hoya his private encore.

(And if Hoya doesn't pay much attention to the lyrics this time either, neither one of them really care.)


End file.
